


joys from a dark hemisphere

by poalimal



Series: WIP Amnesty [19]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Depression, Dubious Consent, Farms/Ranch, Fic in the Time of Quarantine, Gen, Horses, M/M, Midlife Crisis, Misunderstandings, Novia Scotia, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24455395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: 'Everything that happened to you, everything that made you who you are - the disappointment, the pain, the fear, the happiness and joy - you'll take that with you wherever you go, whoever you meet. You can't escape yourself.'
Relationships: Justin "Ransom" Oluransi/Jack Zimmermann
Series: WIP Amnesty [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1083513
Kudos: 2





	joys from a dark hemisphere

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [_Two English Poems_](https://www.poeticous.com/borges/two-english-poems), by Jorge Luis Borges. An excerpt:
> 
> I can give you my loneliness, my darkness  
> the hunger of my heart;  
> I am trying to bribe you with  
> uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.

Justin turned 30 having never fallen in love. When he was younger, he put it down to his sheltered upbringing - but Jodie and Leila had been raised on the same isolated farmstead in Nova Scotia, had grown up equally suspicious of human strangers, with all the same stunted social skills - and look at them now: they were both in successful, long-term relationships. 

Happy. 

'How do you know I'm happy?' Leila asked him one day. (This was years ago, right after Leila and Kenya had started seeing each other; before they adopted their dog.) 'I could be lying through my teeth!' (Well, why would you lie about being happy? Justin had asked.) 'I don't know! And you don't know either! Kenya could secretly be an axe murderer or something. Don't give me that look! My point is - surface is surface. Don't compare your life to an idea.'

Happiness, Justin thought, probably earned you the right to be a little philosophical. A little earnest and existential. 

'Love isn't happiness, whatever you think about it,' said Jodie. (This was last year - the day he turned 29.) 'It isn't philosophy, or any of that shit. Love is work... so I'm not sure why you of all people would assume it would automatically make you happy.'

You of all people, huh. Justin was too tired to even sigh. 'I know it doesn't mean anything to you, but I do actually like my job,' he said. 'And corporate coastal compliance _is_ important work. The sea level is only gonna get higher, no matter how much these companies want to pretend--'

'It doesn't matter what the work is,' said Jodie. She never... never listened to him. 'They're taking advantage of you. Look at you - you're exhausted! You look like you're about to fall over, Justin, put the cake down! Jesus. You don't always have to make yourself useful.'

Justin carefully placed the cake back on the table. 'It's just been. Hmm. A bad week,' he said, thoughtfully. But didn't he always say that?

'You always say that,' said Leila - less asleep on the couch than Justin had assumed. 'How many bad weeks have to pass before you realise that this is just your life?'

* * *

It took 52. Then he quit his job and went back home without telling anyone.

* * *

The sun was sinking past the clouds right as Justin rolled up to the farm. He didn't notice the different sign. Down, he flipped his sun visor up, slowing as he neared the old house; and he felt every second of his age spread out over his whole body. His coat was a sight too thin - worn through - he felt tired, as if he could sleep for a week. A month. A year.

His father would probably force him to eat something before he sent him off upstairs, he thought. He thought of fish cakes, of oxtails, of rice and baked beans. He thought of burying himself in his childhood bed and waking up new. 

Up the steps he wobbled, lamenting the half-dried mud sticking to the back of his boots. The porch light ticked on automatically, startling him before he could even knock. Was that new?

The door swung open. A very tall stranger stood in his parents' doorway, staring him down. The golden light of the living room felt like heat on Justin's face.

Uh... huh. Maybe he was a new groom? But why would he be there so late?

'You're very different from what I was expecting,' the man murmured, looking him over. What? Maybe he thought-- _Justin_ was a groom?

Justin was beginning to remember, with a growing sense of disorientation, a few... hundred texts in the family group chat that he'd never gotten around to reading before he lost his old phone. Call after call that he'd had to ignore, in and out of endless meetings, buried in project after project.

And in the meantime, out in the real world - had Mom and Dad sold the farm? And here he'd thought he'd surprise them.

'I'm sorry,' said Justin, looking around, 'I think I might be... in the wrong place?' The welcome mat on the porch was gone, he saw, as was his Mom's old rocking chair; and there was a little line of empty flowerpots cluttering up one of the windowsills. 

Uneasy, he shifted his duffel bag over his arm, glancing over his shoulder to see a Percheron stood at the fence, staring right back at him - the same kind of heavy breed his dad had always said was simply too expensive to feed.  
  
'What,' said the man, 'did Bev not tell you there'd be horses?'

Justin bit his lip. Maybe the man thought he was just a general farmhand? A hired groom would know to expect horses.

'Bev didn't tell me much of anything,' said Justin, strictly honest. 'But I'm...' _Not sure what I'll do if I have to turn back around_. '...I'm ready to work right away.' The man gave him an odd look. 'Ah. If that's what you want.'

The man still looked faintly puzzled. 'How about you come inside first,' he said, finally. 'You look pretty tired. Were you driving very long?'

'Yea, since early this morning,' Justin admitted, stepping into the warm embrace of the house with a sigh of relief. The general layout of the inside of the house looked more or less the same - there was a lot less furniture, though, and a lot more dark plaid and muted colours than his mother would've liked. It had much more of a bachelor pad feel, which was quite the feat for an old farmhouse. Maybe Mom might've liked the couch, at least - her favourite scarf was that same dark shade of green... oh, the pillar between the kitchen and the living room she'd always complained about was gone-- And there was a cat! Peeking at him from the mismatched armchair. She was just a little slip of a thing - a Burmese, if Justin was id'ing her correctly.

'You have a cat!' he said, delighted. He took a tiny step toward her - and watched in dismay as she bolted for the kitchen. 'Aww. What's her name?'

'Lilou only answers to food,' the man said. Justin jumped a little - the man was closer now, and staring at Justin with something like concern. 'Why didn't you take a break? I wouldn't've thought you'd be so far away.'

Justin laughed a bit, feeling awkward. 'Oh, I don't know. I guess I just felt like,' he said, tugging on his ear a little, 'if I stopped off anywhere... I wouldn't be able to keep going?' 

_Or else_ , he added to himself privately, _or else I wouldn't make it_.

The man tilted his head. 'You haven't done this before?' he said, taking Justin's bag from him. Something in the stretch of his arm towards Justin, the sound of his voice was quite... careful.

Was he talking about taking care of horses? It didn't feel like it. It felt like they were talking about two different things. 'I mean, I grew up doing it,' said Justin. The man frowned. 'I guess it... has been a while, though,' he admitted, shrugging a little.

The man's lips twitched a little. 'I think I see why Bev sent you now,' he murmured. 'You're very honest, aren't you?'

Justin lowered his voice, too, on reflex: 'Only when I don't have a reason to lie.' Which, he thought to himself, made him like everyone else on the planet.

'Hm,' said the man. He placed Justin's duffel on one of the stools near the counter - now granite? soapstone? not grey-and-white tile, at least - then he turned back around, leaned down, and kissed him. 

He smoked - Justin could taste it in his mouth, even beneath the minty remnant of mouthwash; he smelled of tobacco, of bergamot and sweat. Justin leaned his head back, thinking at first of a better angle only - then the rest of his thoughts caught up with him.

All at once he froze; the man pulled back. He furrowed his brow, and looked close at Justin's face. 

'...Did I make you uncomfortable?' he asked.

'I-- no,' Justin said, biting his lower lip. He began to understand what the man wanted of him. 'You just startled me.'

The man's eyes flicked down to his mouth. '--Sorry. I should've said something. I just thought--' he was starting to frown '--you said you wanted to do this right away.' Adding: 'We don't have to do anything right now, of course. I mean,' he rolled up one of his sleeves, slid his hand up and rubbed his shoulder, 'we've got all night. Right?'

'Right,' Justin said, slowly, eyeing the thickness of the man's fingers. The tattooed _burnt wood_ on the skin of his wrist; the little fidgeting flex of his forearms.

'I think,' he said carefully, 'there's been a misunderstanding.'

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/References.
> 
> \- There are 52 weeks in a year in the Gregorian calendar.  
> \- [The Underexplored Roots of Black Cooking in Nova Scotia](https://www.saveur.com/roots-of-african-nova-scotian-cuisine/), Chantal Martineau, 9 October 2018 @ Saveur.  
> \- burnt wood - Eng. translation of bois-brûlés (or bois brûlé), an old-fashioned term of specific viability referencing the Métis people.  
> \- I think this is probably one of the last Check Please! fic I'll post. It would take effort I cannot muster right now to do this plot justice. And why introduce characters of colour only to underwrite them? Why omit the long-term work required to live well with severe depression or anxiety? Why portray a significant power differential in a gay relationship without critically addressing it? Why bother doing any of this for a webcomic whose creator did not do the same?


End file.
